


Modulation/移调

by Frigiditaet



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: About Music, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Ludo is a Tenor, M/M, Morse is Ludo's Fan, Morse is obsessed by Ludo's voice, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frigiditaet/pseuds/Frigiditaet
Summary: Ludo quickly returned with his sparkling wine and refilled beer glass, and placed Morse's portion in front of him."Thanks." Morse embarrassedly turned the glass handle to himself with his right hand, but not rushing to drink. "I owe you a round.""Music, art, and courting beauty—the three hobbies in my life." Ludo responded candidly, counting solemnly and lyrically while regarding the blue-eyed policeman who looked at him.An AU of S07, the touring tenor Ludo / his fan & voice-judger Morse, from the first meeting until bed.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse/Ludo Talenti
Comments: 25
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fitzrove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/gifts).
  * A translation of [Modulation/转调](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214796) by [Frigiditaet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frigiditaet/pseuds/Frigiditaet). 



> It’s me again!  
> Want to see the two of them having a good relationship ... Morse doesn’t have many friends, and few of them listen to classical music, and then FINALLY Ludo comes! Of course they should empathize with each other! Take Morse to bed! So I wrote this! () Tried to discuss the role and the function of music (failed((, and ease the relationship between Daddy Thursday and Morse.  
> Inspiration from a black-haired and bearded lad who sang die schöne Müllerin in a not that formal concert I attended last month. So haha  
> School is closed so, I did what I want to((  
> Wish you’ll have fun reading it!(  
> \-------------------  
> About translation:  
> Firstly thx Fitzrove give me the courage to do that…This translation won’t be here if you didn’t comment and cheer me up.  
> I’m very sorry to meet all of you in this way: this is a translation of my work but based on the version from Google-translator (…wait, what). I tried my best to consult the dictionary, consult the dictionary, consult the dictionary again, then correct the mistakes and fix and patch and revise the text (…). English is not my subject (shutup) so, if there’s anything weird, strange, improper (im so sorry to disgust you), or you may have any suggestion please let me know and I'll be indescribably grateful.  
> (Is it a kind of (cyber?) co-created work??? Anyway thanks Google and Youdao and all the English-learning websites. Anyone interested in the Google-translated work without correction could try it yourself)  
> Viel Spaß beim Lesen!
> 
> CO-TRANSLATOR'S NOTE (Fitzrove): I went through the first chapter as of March 26, 2020, and will continue on with the next one, and the rest as well when Frigiditaet posts them. So excited to be helping with the translation of an amazing story! I always find myself despairing @ foreign language fics because reading with Google Translate is such a pain... but the Endeavour fandom is so small I crave every piece of content I can get, especially if it has such a good pairing like Ludo/Morse on it. Happy reading! ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meeting! Both of them are excited  
> (so do I (((

1.  
It was high noon when Morse stepped out of the police station. He had just talked back to Thursday with a few words and, as a result, was still irritable and pinching his own fingers. The weather was not bad. Although the New Year had just passed, the sun was now warming the people under it, and a moist green was spreading across the treetops and lawn. The breeze which brought up the fresh odour of the river was still there, but without the chill it had carried earlier. Morse weighed the car keys in his hand, thinking about how he was going to go about interviewing Molly Andrews' relatives.

"Uh, sorry, could you spare me a few minutes?" A voice interrupted his thoughts. Morse glanced up and saw a man in a beige windbreaker and light, varicoloured shirt standing on the side of the road and grinning at him in the sun. Morse blinked and walked towards him.

"I’d like to ask if you know any commendable restaurants nearby—I arrived in Oxford yesterday and only had time to go around today..." The person asking for directions explained, smoothing out the front of his shirt, and then he realised that the man he'd asked directions for suddenly looked lost.

"Sorry, it’s, ehh, Mr. Talenti? Uh, Ludo Talenti?" Morse looked at him with a stunned expression, and in addition to the momentary bewilderment, there was almost a sense of unstoppable suspicion and excitement on his face.

"Yes, it's me." Ludo curiously watched the man, running a hand over his hair and the back of his neck. He reached out his hands and gestured, "I never knew I was a celebrity ... you okay?"

"I’m fine," Morse took a deep breath to be able to stare straight back into Ludo's eyes. "I ... I really love your ‘63 ‘Winterreise’ [1], it's, really, perfect …" He revealed a bashful smile, "… Oh God, how should I describe: that kind of colour of tone, state, interpretation..."

[1] Winterreise: Schubert's song cycle for tenor and piano, about 1h15min long.

"Thank you, you flatter me." Ludo laughed and looked down, as Morse continued: "... your control of dynamics, like the last note, sounds more unruffled than other versions that sound too obtrusive, and, ah—I don’t even know where to start...”

"Oh," Morse shut up suddenly, blushed, and touched the tip of his nose, "I'm sorry. I'm being impolite."

"No no, absolutely not! You make me believe that all of Oxford is welcoming me," Ludo shook his head with a trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "Speaking of which, I'm planning to find a place for lunch. What about having a meal together?" He shrugged sincerely. Unsurprisingly, he found the other man was flattered and held his own wrist in astonishment.

Morse closed his eyes in pain and moaned after the initial surprise: "Actually, Mr. Talenti, I'm a ... policeman, not yet off duty, and I'm about to go out..."

"A policeman?” The singer didn’t expect that, but still stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, then threw up hands, and continued to seduce him without feeling guilty: "But it is lunch time, isn't it? You are firstly a person. I suppose filling the belly and having a small talk could be very helpful for your work."

Ten minutes later they were already sitting in the restaurant and ordering food. Morse randomly chose a main course and a glass of beer with an uneasy conscience, as he pretended to be a normal person with a regular diet, and felt the guilt of betraying his stomach. He wasn't actually hungry, or in other words, he was used to this kind of emptiness, but the person sitting at the other end of the table seemed to be in high spirits.

Ludo pointed at the wine list and asked for a bottle.

"Please, my treat today," his voice was filled with joy, "don't worry about it, it's my pleasure—On my first day in Oxford, asked the first gentleman passing by for directions," he raised his eyebrows, and Morse smiled in embarrassment, avoiding Ludo's gaze, "and got such high praise that I can hardly take it. I greatly appreciate your gracious words."

"...I seem to say this too many times, but emm, I really like your recordings." Morse declared again as he took the beer, too impatient not to bury his face in it and take a big sip—Ludo saw his throat twitch noticeably—and then continued, "Every piece and every corresponding emotion, you have portrayed so accurately and expressed in such an incredible, rich manner, without pretense but just the kind of sadness or joy you want to show..."

"...And your intonation," Morse laid down the glass and spoke in a low murmur. "It's so perfect. It's hard to imagine how you did it. I'm fed up with those conceited wiseacres in the choir. They'll never find themselves out of tune.” Ludo echoed with an “Ah”, and Morse went on in a breath: “If I hadn’t put your Winterreise on the record player as soon as I got back to my flat, I would never have had the courage to go out again.”

They were sitting by the window. The golden sunlight of midday passed through the glass and the stickers on it and illuminated the goblets filled with bright liquid rubies. Pedestrians were passing by, steady and unhurried. The potted plants at the entrance of the restaurant were still lush, and the swaying branches reflected a tender waxy green. Ludo squinted at his loyal audience, looking at him up and down: Morse seemed a little restless and nervous at first, but when he was completely immersed in another world, his passion and dedication softened all his edges.

"I'll have a concert in Oxford next Monday, ‘Die schöne Müllerin’[2], perhaps you already know it." Ludo suggested while shaking his glass.

[2] Müllerin: Schubert's song cycle, about 1h5min long.

"Uh hum, I know."

"Are you coming?”

Morse sighed in frustration, striving to remain calm: "I’d like to. But the tickets are sold out."

Ludo sounded a little surprised: "Sold out? Oh, I didn't expect that."

"...Actually it's the tickets I can afford that are sold out." Morse admitted abashedly and got a laugh from the other.

"Oh, since you mentioned it..." Morse knew what the second sentence would be like before Ludo finished talking. "Don't," he hurriedly intercepted the other's words. "It’s me who..." He sheepishly swallowed the words "has no money", "That’s what you deserve—and we only knew each other for an hour!" He dropped his glance while shaking his head, "It's fine, really."

"You’ve known me at least, I guess, for three years?" Ludo smilingly shifted the subject.

Morse corrected him hesitantly: "Six years."

"And, although we only met an hour ago, I feel like I’ve known you for a long time. You’re like an old classmate of mine, Morse—did you study in the UK? Didn’t go abroad?" With his head aslant, Ludo looked at the reluctantly nodding police officer, as his intention of flirting did not get detracted at all: "We are meant to meet. Fate, I think. And you understand me well, that’s the most important thing. Although many people like to buy the most expensive tickets, sit in the most enviable seats, and enjoy the best sound effects, they don't understand.

"Although we say that the music is equal, it is only worth playing for those it belongs to; otherwise it's like casting pearls before a swine. I was in France the year before and someone fell asleep beside me while listening to Dvořák’s cello concerto ... We were in the fifth row, Jacqueline du Pré and her 1712 Stradivari were no more than twenty meters away. I don't know how to fall asleep in that situation: your chest and soul can’t but follow her and her instrument trembling. The whole orchestra roared on the stage. You have no way not to be infected by du Pré. Sleeping in this situation is sacrilegious, I have to say [3]."

[3] Du Pré: Except the location and the sleeping case, the rest is real.

"I haven't heard her perform live..." Morse hung his head dejectedly with his left hand tightly pulling his hair. Ludo couldn't help noticing the fluffy, curly hair of the Briton sitting across from him, which looked like a crispy dessert sprinkled with frosting in the light.

"She's British." Ludo teased him. "You have to attend her concert at least once in your life."

"You know, work." The salaried civil servant took another gulp of beer. "Can't always get away. Besides the wage, there are countless cases. I shouldn't overlook them. But nonetheless, no matter how many bad people you put away, there’s always another one standing right behind him [4]. "

The singer pouted disdainfully, "Life? Death? Rich? Poor?—It's all destiny. Life is too short, Morse, live in the moment and enjoy what’s here now. That’s my suggestion."

[4] Dialogue: There are original lines, hereinafter inclusive.

Morse did not argue with him.

"So," Ludo leaned back in his chair and got back to the original topic. "I insist on inviting you to my concert. An expert who would appreciate it is worth more than a layman just showing off in the front hall. I hope you don’t mean to leave me alone among those clumsy sycophants. "

Morse thanked him for his generosity. He opened his mouth but didn't know how to refuse. He tried to find another reason: "Uh, I haven't listened to the Müllerin for a long time. I'm actually more used to listening to the pieces and being acquainted with them before the concerts," he said, taking a sip of wine, "Otherwise I would ... get stuck on every note and waste the whole performance."

"Then, here’s still a week. You can go through it again from tonight on." The black-haired vocalist raised his eyebrows with conscious vivacity, but staring at the policeman with emerald-edged amber eyes fixedly.

Morse reluctantly bit his lower lip. "My apartment was broken into before ... I once had a, recording of Müllerin, and Rosalind Calloway’s ‘54 ‘Madame Butterfly’, even with her signature." He stared at the silver prong of the fork on the table, "Lost, all of them."

Ludo sighed sympathetically, "What a pity. That one is a classic."

Morse bent his head, "She ... killed a girl, because of her strayed husband." He paused before continuing: "I found out about that. And then she committed suicide."

"Oh." Ludo was startled. "Oh my god, that's ... terrible. I didn't know about that."

The police officer who accompanied him looked a little melancholic, and it seemed like he didn't retell the story of that fling very often. His blue eyes were wide as he confusedly looked away from Ludo, but appeared more relieved after having the words pour out. Ludo doubted if Morse had ever spoken to others about the devotion, embitterment and self-accusation he felt because of Calloway’s death. There was a silence at the dining table for a while, as the clatter of dishes and soft whispers from other tables filled the gap.

"You can get one from me." Ludo suddenly started to talk again, "Müllerin, I mean. They're supposed to be sold at the signing on Monday. "

Morse woke up and raised his head, then came to his senses. “Well, thank you, I will pay for that." He smiled.

Ludo was satisfied with this reply and continued to ask, "How should I give it to you?"

Morse realized his discourtesy just now and answered politely in haste, "I can come to your place."

"How about," the generous vocalist offered another suggestion, "after you get off work, the two of us go out for a few drinks?”

The police officer didn’t know whether to cry or to laugh: "Mr. Talenti ..."

"Ludo, please," the black-haired man stroking his beard interrupted him, with grievance in his voice, "I will be hurt."

"... Ludo," Morse immediately corrected himself, overwhelmed, and didn’t know what to do, "don’t inconvenience yourself for my sake. I'll just make a trip. You have to practice."

The other person still looked at him with a grin and consoled him, "I have a whole week. Don't worry, I will practice. So, that's the deal." He gave the final word, leaving Morse no room to avoid it, and then his tone was relaxed, "I could finally have a break to rest during the tour! Don't you dare to try to lock me in the practice room all day."

The sergeant ultimately stopped declining the invitation, giving the matter up as hopeless, and oddly felt at ease. "Alright," he drank the last drops in one sip, then stood up with a smile he couldn't stop and did up his buttons, "See you later, then."

The refined singer indulgently followed him and answered courteously, with his favorite voice: "See you later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried this in one day...so, should be full of mistakes. Help (slapped). Hope it's better than google.  
> The whole work is finished but the translation not (very useless author). The second chapter has little fewer words so. Maybe tomorrow?Ah, Life is hard (stopspeakingtoyourselfitsawkward  
> Thx again for reading. Forgive me for polluting your eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second date!  
> (i'll call it a date((no

2.  
"You leaving now? No overtime?" Thursday looked at him in surprise.

Morse neatly sorted out the papers and open files spread out on his desk, "Well, I have to meet a friend."

"Oh, then. But don't forget the work." the Inspector puffed on his pipe, "We've had enough things to do recently."

The subordinate inwardly knew that he was in the wrong, so he didn't respond and simply nodded, fetching his jacket and putting it on.

"Got a date?" Strange interjected to make fun of him, "What kind of bird could make you so distracted?"

"NOT a date!" He retorted angrily, ignoring his colleague's ridicule, and hurried out of the police station.

Ludo was leaning against the door, looking even more energetic than at noon. His hair had been meticulously brushed again, his collar straightened, and he was observing the passers-by patiently. Morse stepped forward, apologizing for keeping him waiting. The musician, waving his hand, didn’t give a damn and handed a flat paper bag to him.

"Nah, here you are." He slyly gave the police officer a wink. "Not signed yet. You have to promise to come on Monday and tell me what you want me to write."

"I will." Morse received it carefully. After pulling the content out and taking a look at the cover, he shoved it back into the bag gratefully and led the way towards the bar, as the elegant singer added: "... or you can come to the other one in London next Saturday—but it’ll be ‘Dichterliebe’ and ‘Schwanengesang’ [5] [6], the week after next in Paris, then Lyon ... "

[5] Dichterliebe: Schumann's song cycle, about 30 minutes long.  
[6]Schwanengesang: Schubert's song cycle, about 60 minutes long.

"Won’t that be tiring?"

"Oh, it's fine. You'll get used to it."

The two of them were sitting on the bar stools by a small table. Morse asked for a glass of beer, and Ludo for something to eat. It was dinner time, the bar was bustling, and the air was filled with the scent of oil and the sweet smell of syrup. The singer intently judged the fried chicken handed over by the waiter with rigorous eyes.

"What's wrong?" Morse asked, impatiently looking around for his beer again.

"Nothing." The fork poked into the shell of breadcrumb and made a crisp sound. "Actually I shouldn’t eat this stuff, so almost haven't eaten them. But, um, once in a while." Ludo took a bite and nodded in approval. "Not bad at all. You want to try some?"

"Oh, it’s alright," Morse belatedly found himself negligent, "I'm sorry. I forgot that. You won’t get any…?"

The other one swayed the metal stuff in his hand like waving a baton, "It's fine. I wanted to invite you to the restaurant of my hotel at first, but I was afraid that you’ll..." He saw the policeman with red tips of the ears turning the head away. "...I was afraid your gluttony would bankrupt me. And wouldn’t you really eat a bit? I feel like I'm abusing you if I let you drink on such an empty stomach."

The Englishman moodily made a surrendering posture and obediently took the tableware Ludo had passed to feed himself a bite.

"The meat is also kind of tender." The artist continued to comment, sighing comfortably, "Tastes like Paganini's Fifth Caprice."

Morse: "..."

The beer was served up while chatting. Five minutes later he had reached the bottom of the glass and was going to go to the bar to refill it, but Ludo got out of the chair first and motioned him to pass it. He restlessly pushed the glass to him.

Ludo quickly returned with his sparkling wine and refilled beer glass, and placed Morse's portion in front of him.

"Thanks." Morse embarrassedly turned the glass handle to himself with his right hand, but not rushing to drink. "I owe you a round."

"Music, art, and courting beauty—the three hobbies in my life." Ludo responded candidly, counting solemnly and lyrically while eyeing the blue-eyed policeman who looked at him.

The other person blushed as he froze.

"Oh, I," Morse held back, speechlessly, looking away haphazardly, "Uh ... I thought, I’m, not that ..."

"Not that what?" The devil across from him asked with a cheeky grin while drinking champagne.

"... Forget it!" The fan indignantly retorted, complaining frantically: "How could you say those things with this voice? Do you know your image in my mind—you, my God, you use THIS voice, how could I even listen to your recordings afterwards... "

"Aha, I have found your weakness." The tenor who was indirectly complimented knocked on the table proudly and declared his victory. "And I shall exploit it without mercy to my own ends." He leaned forward, dangerously squinting at Morse who was avoiding him embarrassedly, "You really love my voice, don't you?"

"... Uh-huh." Morse finally sat up straight again, took several sips to cover up the embarrassment, and almost choked.

Ludo was still holding his head high. "Then, can I use this voice to make you do anything?" He flipped the glass cheerfully and the glass tinkled liquidly. "First wish! I want to know your given name."

Morse, putting his hand to his forehead, shook his head, but still pointed to the glass, "Fine. Coincidentally, that's my initial. I don't want to say anything more [7]."

[7] Initial: Morse has perfect pitch. The glass makes an E6 sound.

"E! My dear E. Morse! I really am a pied piper." The singer cheered childishly. "Since you don't want to say that, I won't force you—" He lowered his voice, still with smiling eyes and brows. “Next one, won’t you mind awarding me with a kiss?”

The Briton froze. Although the expression on his face remained unchanged, there was more vigilance in his eyes, but he relaxed after a while. He silently and unhurriedly dragged Ludo's flute-shaped glass in front of himself, took it up in the hand, and watched the clear yellow translucent champagne swirling around in it. Small bubbles floated up along the glass wall and exploded on the surface.

He pressed his lips against the glass, took a sip, and put the cup back in front of Ludo, watching him silently.

He didn't notice the imperceptible reverence and longing in his inquiring eyes.

And those bright yellow-green eyes looked back frankly as their owner turned the wall of the cup. Ludo took a sip from the same place without hesitation, turning his head and grinning at the person opposite him.

"What a wonderful night." The sly fox was content, "Although this day has not completely passed, I will praise the day fiercely right now, no matter what will happen in a moment."

Morse chuckled, and then hid himself in the beer mug in front of him.

"My last wish:" Ludo put his glass down and stretched slightly. "I want ..."

"Oh please." Morse exhaled and raised his hand.

"I haven't finished yet," the musician raised one finger and shook it, "I want to ask if you have some time tomorrow night." He looked at the police cheerfully. “I haven’t met such a nice companion like you for a long time. Give me another chance?"

"Ah," Morse blinked with his eyebrows rising. "I ... I don't know. I've been busy lately."

Ludo noticed the tangled feelings of the man across from him, and planned to give him an out: "If not this time, we can go out on the weekend ..."

"Tomorrow ... I can actually do it. I'll give it a try." Morse agreed uncommonly, "I'll hurry up. You shouldn’t even drink on the weekend."

"You're so considerate." The singer was overjoyed and looked at him exaggeratedly and affectionately, but his voice was full of sincere delight, "I think my life is completed. And don't take the record with you for signature tomorrow." He pouted at the paper bag, as the record was carefully leaned against the inner wall by Morse. "Promise me you’ll come on Monday."

"I promise." The blue eyes were full of glimmers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably make a short break after this chapter...a little bit overwhelmed.  
> 've got a new idea so will start a new work/dig a new hole (stop).  
> whoever read until here really thank you for you patience and tolerance.


	3. Chapter 3

3.  
For the rest of the week, Morse took his guest to several different bars. He apologized profusely for not having more time to show Ludo around Oxford, but the other man explained that he often went around during the day. His accompanying pianist could confine himself in the practice room for the whole day, but a vocalist couldn’t. There were too many unstable factors that could affect the voice. A singer knows where his limits are and how much practice is needed before the official performance.

While practicing, he would have no hesitation, but as soon as he stopped, Ludo realized that what he anticipated most of his spare time was the company of that special person he only just met, but somehow felt like he was meant to meet. His agent didn't notice his wandering and absent mind, but still reminded him to stay safe and keep warm on the way. As soon as he went out, he thought of the blue-eyed Englishman.

"Oxford." said that voice in his mind.

There weren't many interesting people in the world, and even fewer of them could chime in with you easily and feel the same way about you even on first sight. A well-known musician is more like a person of the world than of his original nationality: as he's working with international colleagues and communicating with audiences all around the world, it's easy to occasionally lose one’s sense of down-to-earth. During the tour, it was just him and his agent travelling, and he spent the rest of his time meeting a few old friends at home. Music could indeed fill that vacancy, but when another living, warm, smiling person appeared, responding, he started to understand the irresistible taste for the first time.

On the day of the performance, he found the familiar figure in the darkness just before the first note, and that made him able to make eye contact with the accompanying pianist with a peace of mind.

The night he got the record, Morse turned on the record player as soon as he got home. The beautiful sound of the tenor voice and the piano flowed from the horn and poured into his empty room without restraint. He couldn't but stop shoveling at the wallpaper in his hand, pick up the lyrics, and tuck himself into the sofa. Unlike the previous version, this piano was a bit rounder and darker, and Ludo's tone was softer and more silvery, but it didn't seem frivolous. Morse marveled at the unfamiliar differences, which, although unfamiliar, did not make him uncomfortable or averse. He insisted on finishing listening to the whole cycle, until the drowsiness sent by the lullaby of the brook overcame him.

The moment before falling asleep, in the gap between reality and fantasy, he seemed to catch the eyes resembling deep lakes in the spring.

Music comforted him. It became easier to give up his arrogance in front of Thursday and accept Strange's kind advice. One day, in a moment of tension, he tested his loyalty to his profession and his work—still there. He wasn't becoming indifferent because he was tired of dealing with corpses and lies, but his mind was more peaceful. It seemed that the lights that had been extinguished were rekindling in the cold night, more or less melting the hard ice.

He got off work on time on Monday night. Thursday patted his shoulder with relief, sighing for the fact that his bagman finally became normal for some moments, and Morse could only exclaim: "Not a date. It's a concert."

He tried his best to wash off the exhaustion of a whole day, put on his suit and bow tie, and waited outside the concert hall. When he was drinking champagne alone by the window, a waiter stepped forward hesitantly.

"Mr. Morse? This is for you, from Mr. Talenti." The waiter said uncertainly, handing in a yellow paper ticket. He nodded thankfully and took it.

The seat was in the middle of the third row.

He couldn't help but glance at the sale price, and then weighed this huge bargain and lavish gift in his hand again with an accelerated heartbeat.

The black suit fit Ludo all too well. In the dark Morse stared at the vocalist walking with the other two on the stage. The singer was energetic and seemed to be at ease, with a calm smile as the audience applauded. Morse keenly caught the glance before he started.

He is in a fit state today, the policeman thought.

Throughout the performance, he wasn’t driven distracted for a moment—he didn't feel exhausted until the last chord fell. The incomparable charm of the live scene would never be possessed by the recordings: you can admire the never-fading roses in the photos thousands of times, but watching the buds in the morning blooming with glittering dews, it is still beautiful and heartbreaking. At the moment when the music starts, the audience and the creator of beauty begin to build inextricable links. With the passage of time, they continued to be sublimated, peeled off, and undergo qualitative changes until the both on and off the stage are as if thoroughly remoulded and reborn.

Ludo also showed a little tiredness, but after three times of curtain calls, he still gave the "Gretchen am Spinnrad[8]" as an encore.

[8] "Gretchen": Schubert's Kunstlied, about 3-4min, the lyric is from "Faust".

Hardly anyone had ever heard a man sing this song. Ludo dropped a full octave, but his charm remained the same, and he still made the piece very pathetic and touching. The sound of the piano cooperated with him to spin long invisible threads and phrases. The trickle gradually became surging, as the singer climbed to the highest A. The abandoned, lonely Gretchen confided to the audience the love that caused her pain, the love that left this white daisy flower crushed and withered. Even so, the beautiful fantasy and memories of the past still tenaciously sprouted from the gap of sorrow, which made her even more strenuous and forgetful about herself—until she was fallen in the dungeon after nine chapters.

"My peace is away, my heart, is heavy..."

The spinning wheel stopped slowly, as the last sixth-four chord lingered in the air. It seemed that the youth who longed for love was still looking out of the window in an unknown corner of the world. The collaborative pianist removed the hands from the keys, and the audience applauded wildly.

Morse also applauded warmly. A few "Bravo!" came from the rows behind.

The musicians on the stage wiped off the sweat from their faces, responded to the curtain calls twice, and finally disappeared behind the stage.

The audience noisily got up and left, and Morse was still sitting on the chair, frozen and staring at the piano.

"Mr. Morse?" The waiter appeared again. Morse looked up.

"Mr. Talenti invites you to come backstage."

"Oh. Okay." He carefully picked up his record, followed the waiter to avoid the enthusiastic crowd, and walked to the back lounge. The waiter knocked on Ludo's door for him.

"Oh! You're here!" Ludo opened the door with a bright smile, greeted him, and then pulled out the bouquet of flowers he had just got on stage like a magic trick: "I hope you won’t mind this borrowed gift."

The off-duty sergeant took it, perplexed.

"Thank you ...?" Morse fiddled with the anthurium and lisianthus in his hand, and passed the bag with the record with his other hand. "And, would you be kind to…"

"Any idea about what I ought to write?" Ludo took out the record, rummaged through the clutter on the table and found a marker. "I thought you would come at the time of the signing but didn’t expect you to want more preferential treatment." He teased Morse while pulling out his pen.

Morse, still holding the flower, looked at him innocently. "You can write anything you want. It's your record."

The musician buried his head in writing and drawing: "Like ‘Fish and Chips’, ‘Jerk’, or just blacken it out?”

"...Don't." The listener was amused, "And, almost forgot that: Your voice is so stable on the stage. That was really, really good." He couldn't refrain from praising, "I almost screamed! The control of the dynamics from pianissimo to fortissimo, and the slight changes of the tone, ah..." He got stuck and bumped, "Strong and smooth, the crescendos and diminuendos are just utterly natural ... "

The signer quickly stopped him, laughing. “Stop, stop, that’s enough." he covered the marker, straightened up and looked at the excited fan, "Why don’t you grant me another, better reward?"

Morse motioned to him to speak up.

"Your triumphant hero wants to ask you for a kiss."

He didn't talk random and utter nonsense. Ludo was frank and determined, and never regretted everything he said.

The policeman gave a small cough, and seemed to calm down, less frantic now.

Slowly and carefully steeping up, Morse pressed his lips lightly on the side of Ludo's face after ten seconds of gazing at him. The beard tickled him a little.

But Ludo took advantage of this opportunity to cuddle him, and turned his head to kiss the British properly.

He felt the body in his arms stiffen, but Morse did not push him away. The artist used this as Morse's tacit consent, slipping his tongue behind Morse's teeth, and licking his palate. The policeman still did not move. Ludo looked up at him. Morse, blinking and frowning, looked confused and solemn.

"Are you okay?" The musician paused, pecked him, and asked with concern.

Morse didn't respond—he answered with action. As if a rusty machine was restarted, he kissed back of his own accord. At first it was just a couple of gentle brushes of the lips, and then he became hungrier. Ludo responded fiercely in return.

The police loosened the bouquet and dropped it to the ground, then dedicated both of his arms to the center of his world. In rapid breathing he held the other's head, and held the wonderful singing throat, the pliable, silver tongue, the mouth that was welcoming him warmly.

Ludo stroked his back, trying to hold the lost person in a deep kiss to keep him on his feet, and slowly guided them to the sofa. They then fell to it, and the singer's right leg was squeezed between Morse's legs. He rested on the thin policeman, and the man under him did not express any dissatisfaction.

They felt each other's breathing, their heartbeat, their fluctuating ribs, and their warm chests.

Another living human.

Another consolation, different from music, but still one that was originated from music, entangled in music, and would never give up music.

When Ludo finally moved away, Morse gasped for a few breaths, fluttering. The singer teased him loudly.

"How can I have your vital capacity!" The blue-eyed man was indignant and fell down again, covering his mouth and nose with one hand: "Oh my god."

The person leaning on the armrest laughed again and said, "I changed my mind. I think your previous suggestion is good."

Morse, with burning ears, stared at the ceiling light: "Which suggestion?"

"Coming to my hotel." The owner of the voice murmured against him.

On the cover of the signed record, Ludo's figure looks directly at the camera, and the simple white lines outline the image of dried flowers and flowing water. The ink of the signature on the top is not yet dry: To my Love. L. Talenti.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> I’m struggling with my translation...here're some examples, if you have better ideas:  
> [borrowed gift]: the original text literally means “use the (borrowed) flowers from the other to present Buddha” (like, offer a present to a guest with other people’s things artfully (rather approving?)).  
> [irresistible taste]: the original literally means “having tasted the (delicious) marrow, the longing for its savour grows” (neutral? when disapproving then means also that sb. wants to try the affairs again)  
> [ps]: I didn’t choose any certain gender for the unnamed supporting roles (pianist and waiter) and I have no idea how to present it here, so, if there is s way.


	4. Chapter 4

4.  
Ludo firmly pressed him against the door and stole a kiss, then quickly opened the door with the key. Morse stepped forwards impatiently and once again, gave Ludo a pleading look. The door slammed shut behind them.

They pushed and shoved each other to the bed. Ludo hugged the policeman who already forgot himself, biting a path from the corner of his mouth to his neck, feeling the beating arteries on the side of the man's neck. Morse ran one hand through Ludo's dark hair, fingers tightening in it, and slipped his other hand under the collar of Ludo’s shirt and explored further.

"...And kiss him, just like I wanted... [9]" The amateur kept panting, humming the song vaguely.

[9] Lyrics: From Gretchen, also the next sentence.

The other man stopped his mouth at Morse’s bow tie, and continued to sing the next sentence while unbuttoning his buttons with both hands: "... And in his kisses, perish..."

Morse let out an embarrassing moan, shoulder blades trembling under the skin of his back: "Do you have to sing so well even in bed?"

"Have you ever reached orgasm by hearing it?" Ludo asked him in turn, rubbing the fabric, and threw their suit jackets and shirts to the end of the bed.

The policeman was speechless and blocked the teasing mouth again in anger, trying to pull off Ludo's underwear.

"Ah, you're hard." Ludo exchanged a kiss with him, and then pretended to touch the groin of the other person in surprise, kneading through the fabric continuously, which resulted in another moan from Morse.

"Yes." The perfectly decent policeman finally admitted and kept stripping them of their pants.

The singer cuddled his waist and let him sit on his upper body and lean against his chest, pressing both of his hands against Morse's spine, going lower until his fingers were circling the skin around his tailbone: "Did you also masturbate while listening to my record?"

"No I didn’t...um..." Morse pressed his hands against Ludo's chest and brushed against it back and forth, trying to relax and let Ludo ease his fingers inside him, up to the knuckles. Ludo squeezed a little more lubricant into his hand and pulled out a condom from the nightstand.

Morse buried his face in the clavicle of the other person, reached for a little lubricant, and groped with both hands to reach Ludo's cock, and then squeezed it up and down. Ludo enjoyed the hot breaths sprayed on his chest and the service on his lower part of the body, and gradually pushed his fingers deeper. He fondled Morse's inner wall with fluid on his finger, and found the slightly harder part of the other's ventral side.

He pressed toward that point. Morse tilted his head and bit into his shoulder, restraining the sobbing in his throat.

Their cocks brushed against each other from time to time. With the meticulous tactics of the sergeant, Ludo's breathing gradually thickened. He pulled out his fingers, wiped the rest of the liquid onto the British’s arse, rubbed the other's buttocks, and took the condom out of the ripped package and put it on. Morse caught the motion with his eyes and straightened, trying to hold his cock firmly. Ludo, holding onto Morse's hips, palms almost clutching the jut of his hipbones, was keenly aware of Morse's trembling.

"Your first time?" He asked.

Morse's eyes narrowed, and he answered ambiguously, "Kind of."

The policeman sat down slowly. He saw Morse swallowing a few times, his chest twitching sharply, and the shape of his ribs was clearly visible between the ebb and flow. And he felt the inflated warmth: he was slowly being accepted into uninhabited territory. Rather than exploring a deep tunnel, it was more like the sea parting out of nothing, like setting foot in a path in the snow or flower fields that have never been stepped on. He patiently waited for the person above him to sit down completely. Morse exhaled a long breath.

"... and never was life so dear to me... [10]" The singer hummed again, and then shook the other's hip.

[10] Lyrics: "Ah, la paterna mano" from Tosca.

"Uh ...!" His listener was caught off guard, biting his lips and letting a moan slip, and was immediately scared by his own voice: "My god."

Ludo straightened and licked the sunken curve between his collarbones: "You sound better than me. Why don't you finish it?"

"No, never... hey!" The policeman just sang two syllables in vain, and Ludo pushed up again, provoking another shout.

The singer hugged him sympathetically, pushed him backwards on the bed, and pulled his cock out. Morse, complaining, was urged to turn over, "Stop singing like that..."

The next second Ludo pressed him down and pushed his cock in again, but rubbing against his prostate relentlessly this time. Morse frowned, gasped in the sheets and made a soft nasal sound.

The artist put his hands on Morse's hips, slowly and gently moving in and out of him, his muscles and tendons undulating like waves. The policeman cried and couldn't say a meaningful word. He held his hand towards his front with his last strength, and the head of his cock had left a little water mark on the fabric under him. He took his cock in hand and soothed himself with the strokes, feeling the familiar sensitive areas and speeding up.

Ludo slid his hands forward and pressed his waist down. In the dizziness, Morse heard him growling, with a sense of calmness: "Oh Morse, you're so tight..."

The sergeant, hardly sober anymore, was out of breath and answered: "You are not so bad yourself, Mr. Talenti... hah..."

When Ludo vigorously rubbed his prostate through the rectal wall again, Morse came, unable to resist any longer. The singer leaned over him and kissed him after turning his head. Morse lifted his arms and wrapped them around Ludo’s neck, burying his fingers in the black hair and fiddling with it gently.

"You happy?" Ludo asked him in a low voice when their lips separated.

He looked back through the mist of water and kissed those thrilling candy-colored eyes again. "Yes."

Ludo sucked his earlobe and laughed, muffled. "Then, let's do it again."

**Author's Note:**

> Because I knew nothing about opera (), so I took Schubert’s pieces (and Schumann’s) (Stopthere’retoomanyGermanelements!!  
> I was relieved when I saw Morse going to the string quartet concert in S07E01 ... dear Morse if you only listen to opera I really can’t write this work (and what to ask which one was played in E01, it seems to be written in the subtitle but I can't remember that...)  
> Maybe it’s because I didn’t read that much and I haven't found many works which mention Morse’s perfect pitch (S03E02-Arcadia) ... thought it could be interesting to write about it and molesting (what) Morse! Such as singing out of tune in front of him () or treating him as a tuner! () (pulled away and beaten  
> My poor words…so hard to write...) (I think I'm waste(but I still wanted to write it (so I did (  
> Thanks for reading
> 
> After translation:  
> pfffff……(sighing  
> I hope it’s not a wrong decision to translate the work. I’m not that sure if the original (shitty) work deserves to be translated at all but, since I’ve done it…maybe it’s a little bit better than rubbish…?  
> I apologize for my limited ability and also to dear amazing Fitzrove for letting this work be added to your work list. Thank you for spending time on this and supporting me.


End file.
